


i found

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, In which Peter and MJ live in a world where you don't see color until you kiss your soulmate, They're In Love Your Honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: “MJ?” Peter asks through a mouthful of popcorn as they lay on the living room floor of his aunt’s apartment, staring up at the ceiling.“Yeah?” She asks, not fully tilting her head towards him, curiosity piqued.“What’s your favorite color?”
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796449
Comments: 50
Kudos: 157
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	i found

**Author's Note:**

> DAY TWO HERE WE GO BBS!!!
> 
> It has been so fun seeing what everyone has created for our two idiots in love, and I am SO EXCITED to see what the week ahead of us holds! Now, soulmate aus aren't really my thing, so I had a hard time starting this one, but I actually had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you guys enjoy it!!
> 
> Make sure to check out the BEAUTIFUL art that goes with this fic by Machiavelien!!
> 
> Title comes from the song by Amber Run

i.

The words of the textbook melt and warp together, his brain unable to focus on the convoluted phrase structure long enough to take in any of the information. 

So far, studying for that first decathlon meet in Philly has been going… not too well.

Peter tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie—the one May so graciously marked with a label that reads “blue”—before pulling the hood down over his eyes. He takes a deep breath, a moment to try and reset, before pulling it back, the brightness of the gray and white room almost blinding. 

At the beginning of the spring semester, he’d figured he could get a good change of pace by going to the library for his free seventh period everyday instead of his usual, the empty band room. Maybe studying in a place that specifically promotes concentration and learning would prove to be much more helpful. 

For the most part, it’s worked for him. He’s able to at least get half a page in until recently.

Now, his mind starts to drift to the girl in black and gray sitting at the table across from him. 

He knows Michelle, mostly from Acadec. Sometimes he passes her in the hallway on the way to Advanced Physics, and she’s been in a handful of the same classes as him since the beginning of high school. Sometimes she makes funny comments—usually under her breath—during lectures, and he has to either keep himself from snickering, or take a moment to try and understand whatever she just said. When he greets to her in between decathlon practice and meets, she most of the time only offers a tight-lipped smile and nod in return. 

But while he knows who she is, and while he certainly sees her a lot, he still doesn’t  _ know _ her. 

This—both of them sitting in the library during 7th period right before practice—has happened a lot more often since the beginning of the new semester. Michelle’s always sitting in that same spot, nose stuck in what seems like a different book every other day. Peter’s not sure if he’s really coming here every day because it’s a good study spot, because he always somehow gets distracted by the fact that he has the best opportunity to make a brand new friend. His own thought process here becomes a bit too distracting.

So, he decides that he needs to make a change. 

Peter wants to get to know Michelle. Maybe get a laugh or two out of her. Be her friend. 

The next day, at the same free period during seventh hour, he pushes the doors open to the library. His eyes fall on the same sight; the same students sitting in their same places, Michelle included. 

He moves to her table, yet his pace slows the closer he gets as his nerves get the best of him. He hasn’t really thought of what he wants to say, or even how he wants to go about this. It isn’t like this is all that difficult in theory. Michelle is just a person; not someone that he should be afraid to talk to. 

In his internal monologue, Peter hasn’t realized he’s made it to her table. She clears her throat, knocking him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey, Michelle,” he says, startled, still trying to get his bearings. 

“Uh… hey. Peter,” she offers, thumb tapping against the pages of her book as she glances from side to side. “What’s up?”

“Can…” Peter breathes, still not sure where this question is going. “Is anyone sitting here?” He asks dumbly. 

MJ’s expression remains impassive, though her eyes narrow the slightest bit. “Yeah.”

Peter’s mouth forms into a small ‘o’ as he rocks back in his heels, now unsure as to what he should be doing. “Uh, cool. Nevermind.”

But quickly, MJ shakes her head, seeming to be just as ansty as he is. “I’m kidding. Just—Just messing with you.” She gives a faint, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it grin before looking down at her book again. 

“Oh.” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “So…” He points to the chair. “I—I can sit here?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

Peter slowly pulls out the chair across from her, his movements deafeningly loud in the quiet of the library. He throws a sheepish grin over his shoulder as he sits, gently dropping his things on the ground beside him. 

For a moment, they sit in silence, Michelle reading and Peter… well, Peter not knowing what to do with himself. He pulls out his physics book, ready to study again, mulling over some possible conversation topics in his head as he cracks it open. He doesn’t want to seem too nosey, so he refrains from thinking of anything too personal.

He returns to his bag, grabbing his notebook, seeing the bag of pretzels he had packed this morning for an afternoon snack. Peter pulls that out too, setting it on the table and opening it. 

They sit in silence for a while longer, Peter quietly munching on his salty snacks. He can feel Michelle glance up at him every so often, and he immediately feels himself warm under her fleeting gaze. 

He looks up at her, mumbling a ‘sorry’ as he tries to quiet his chewing, still struggling to come up with something—anything—to talk about. 

She waves him off, the corners of her mouth quirking downward into a slight, unbothered frown. 

“You want some?” He asks after another beat, holding out his ziploc bag. 

And again, Michelle’s gaze shifts to his for the briefest of moments, her cheek resting against her knuckles. At first, she doesn’t say anything, only lowering her book the slightest bit. But then, she reaches out, taking a pretzel. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

“You’re welcome,” Peter says almost as quietly. 

And they sit like that for the rest of seventh period, reading and munching on pretzel sticks in an awkward, yet not entirely uncomfortable silence. It’s not much, but Peter can’t help but feel that it’s a step forward in their friendship. 

They’re both so content in their sharing that they don’t notice when they reach at the same time for the same piece. His hand brushes hers, a fleeting touch before they both pull back immediately, both of them apologizing. Yet, as quickly as it had ended, Peter swears he can still feel the warmth of her fingertips. 

And when he looks up to meet her gaze, he’s sure she can still feel the coolness of his. 

He clears his throat in an effort to mask his nervous chuckle. When the final bell rings, he’s unsure of whether or not he considers himself saved. Sure, from further embarrassment yes, but he finds himself wanting the hour to keep going.

Still, as much as he wants to get to know Michelle, he can’t help but feel that they’ll be just fine.

ii.

“MJ?” Peter asks through a mouthful of popcorn as they lay on the living room floor of his aunt’s apartment, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah?” She asks, not fully tilting her head towards him, curiosity piqued. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

She just manages to muffle the snort of laughter that escapes her, quickly glancing at at a sleeping Ned on the couch, making sure her sudden outburst didn’t wake him. Turning her attention back to Peter, her face is scrunched. “What?”

She almost thinks that he’s joking. He has to be. 

“What’s your favorite color?” He repeats earnestly.

“Dude, you remember that neither of us has a soulmate yet, right? The only colors we can actually see are gray, white, and black. That’s only three options.”

“Yeah, I know, but—” Peter sits up on his elbows. “—Like… what do you  _ think _ your favorite color is?”

MJ follows, staring at him incredulously. 

“Okay okay okay,” he relents before a pause, his expression calculating as he tries to find a way to better explain himself. He sits upright, arms rested on his knees as he takes another moment’s contemplation. “Like—we know about certain colors, right? Because there are other people we know who have found their soulmates. May and Ben, your sister and her husband, and now… Ned and Betty. And they—they know what everything looks like. They see every single color. So, I dunno, we’ve heard a lot about them. We may not be able to see them, but…” 

He looks up to find MJ still staring at him, though it’s a softer look, not as harsh and confused. “We can try to understand them,” she nods. 

“Exactly!” Peter says, smile returning. “So, like—I think my favorite color would be red.”

“Red?” MJ asks. 

“Yeah. May’s always talked about how it was her and Ben’s favorite color. And when she tells me about it, I dunno, I’m just kinda drawn to it, I guess.” He shrugs. “I think it’s because it’s a color that’s attached to a lot of really intense emotions? Like, yeah, anger’s one of them, but it’s also love and—and… passion, and... It’s just bold. Ned says it’s like a really warm, really hot color.”

“You’ve really thought a lot about this, huh?” MJ watches him, the corner of her mouth turning upward. 

“Yeah…” Peter’s smile turns timid, sheepish even, as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s—It’s weird I know. Forget I asked—”

“—No.” MJ stops him. “No, it’s fine.” 

Peter nods in understanding.

A beat passes. 

“I think blue would be mine.” MJ says softly. 

“How come?” Peter asks in a barely audible voice. 

She sits in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Well, everyone always says that the ocean’s blue, the sky’s blue… that it’s a really calming color. This one website I read said that it represented calmness and tranquility. Wisdom, too.” 

“You’ve thought about it, too?” Peter asks hopefully. 

MJ gives a single, slow nod. “I’ve done some googling in my spare time.”

“Cool,” Peter grins. “What do you think it’s like when you kiss your soulmate?” 

The faint scoff that comes out of his friend causes his stomach to do a tiny flip. “You haven’t heard Ned talk about it enough?” MJ cracks a smile, shaking her head. 

“Well, I mean, yeah…” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “But, like… I feel like it’s different for everyone, you know?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Another moment of true quiet passes as they both think. MJ sits up fully now, mirroring Peter’s seated position. 

“What do  _ you _ think it’s like?” MJ throws the question back at him. 

Peter glances away, suddenly finding the skin on his thumb very interesting. “I dunno…” He mumbles with a shy shrug as he starts to play with the edge of the throw blanket. But he can feel MJ’s eyes on him, waiting and expecting, but still holding a certain gentleness to them. He sighs, letting his hands fall onto his knees again. “You know when you’re listening to this really amazing song, maybe a symphony or something, and it like—swells and crescendos to this beautiful chord—maybe with some dissonance and resolution in there? And you just get goosebumps, and you feel so warm and—”

“Like Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet?” MJ teases, just lightly. “The one that always plays in movies and TV shows?”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that one.” He’s quiet again, lips twisting in thought before his face lights up again. “Or like, when you’re reading a really good book, and you’re at the end, it’s happy, and everything’s working out and that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy? Maybe there was some bad stuff in the middle, but when you get to that point in the story, you know that everything’s gonna be okay, even if you don’t quite understand why? And then… when you open your eyes… the world just looks so different?”

“Wow, aren’t you a romantic,” MJ deadpans, though when Peter glances up at her, he can see the faint smirk tugging at her lips. She nudges him gently with her shoulder. “I’m kidding. Kind of. Still cheesy, but—” she pauses, shrugging. “It’s sweet. It sounds… It sounds nice,” she decides.

And once again, for the umpteenth time that night, Peter can only grin at her. “It does,” he agrees. “Do you think you’ll ever meet your soulmate?”

“Better question: do I even want to meet my soulmate?” MJ counters. 

“What do you mean?”

It’s MJ’s turn to feel the spotlight, and she does almost the exact same thing to distract herself. She picks at stray threads on the gray blanket. “I don’t know, I mean… I feel like this whole soulmate thing… I feel like it takes the choice out of it, if that makes sense?”

Peter tilts his head in confusion. 

“We’re supposed to have free will, right? As humans. I mean, we can debate on whether or not we actually have free will, but that’s not the point. But—” She pauses, tilting her head from side to side, weighing her words. “What if I never meet my soulmate? Do I just… wait for them until I’m dead? What if my soulmate doesn’t want to be with  _ me? _ What if my soulmate is a terrible person? Do I have to be with them because they’re who fate, or the gods, or whatever higher power picked for me?”

“I don’t think your soulmate would be a terrible person, MJ.” 

“You don’t know that for sure,” she reasons.

“Your soulmate’s supposed to be perfect for you.”

“But what if I don’t want perfect?” She asks. “And what if… what if my soulmate dies in some tragic accident? Am I just doomed to never love again? Is my soulmate my one chance at true, controlled, measured happiness?”

Peter goes silent for a moment, brows pinched together, lips twisted in thought. “I guess I… I guess I never really thought about it that way.” He sighs. “But don’t you… Don’t you ever want to see what the world looks like  _ not _ in black and white?”

“I mean, if I found the right person, I don’t think it’d matter what colors the world was or what I could or couldn’t see… as long as I had them, right?”

A small, teasing smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Now who’s the romantic?”

“Shut up, loser.” MJ rolls her eyes.

“It’s so cute.”

“I swear to God—”

“—no really. Adorable.”

“I’m going to murder you—”

“—awww. Love you too, MJ.”

She lets out a long exasperated sigh, falling back onto the carpet, rubbing her eyes with her hands. The entire time, that same stupid, smug, teasing grin stays on Peter’s face; and honestly, he can’t help it. 

He also can’t help but feel that MJ has a point about this whole soulmate thing. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s not something that he should be striving for, not something he should really be all that worried about. 

With the right person, whoever they are, the world around them doesn’t matter. 

But still, there’s a part of him that knows he’ll always be curious about it. Who did the universe consider to be his ultimate match, his equal in every possible way? Would he ever meet them? What were they doing right this very moment? He also wonders if he’s already met this person, if he’s seen them in passing on the street. 

He thinks of all the chances he might have met this person, and he’s filled with this strange sense of anxiety. 

But again, maybe that’s why MJ was right about this; the very idea of the perfect person being out there for you proved only to be debilitating knowledge. In a way, he could see that it might keep someone from living their life to the fullest. They might miss out on meaningful, true relationships and friendships in order to make room for someone they might never have the chance of meeting, all to see the world in bright, vivid color. 

Besides, it’s really not something he needs to worry too much about. He’s got his friends and family; May, Mr. Stark even… Ned…

And MJ.

iii.

“Wanna hear something cool?” Ned asks MJ as they wait for the first five minute warning bell to ring before school starts. 

She looks up at him from behind her book, one brow quirked in his direction. “What?”

“Your sweater—” He looks down at her outfit. He pauses for dramatic effect. “It’s red.”

Her expression falls, and she stares at him, unimpressed. “Wow.”

It’s not like that trick’s getting old or anything. 

“—And your shirt’s—”

“—Ned.”

Ned immediately shuts his mouth, though it’s easy to see the smile hiding. “My bad.”

“All good,” she says slowly, throwing a warning glare, though her eyes quickly soften—consciously or not, it’s not clear—when she sees they’re friend Peter enter the library. 

Ned and MJ exchange a knowing glance, understanding that today of all days is one where they have to really embrace this whole  _ Peter Parker Protection Squad™ _ thing. They both know this day well; the anniversary of his Uncle Ben’s death is always hard. And every year, they are there for Peter. There to comfort him, to talk to him, to listen to him, or even just to be in the same room as him. Whatever he needs, they are more than happy to provide. 

So, when he acts completely normal, as if nothing’s wrong at all, they’re confused. 

He moves quickly and quietly, plopping his stuff down at the table with them wordlessly. He seems to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him; he looks up, brow furrowed as he eyes them both carefully. “Uh, hey guys.”

Ned’s the first to speak. “Hey, man. How’re you doing?”

Peter’s gaze shifts left and right as he lets out a light scoff. “...Good?”

“Pete,” MJ cuts in, faint concern disguised under a veil of nonchalance. “You okay?”

Peter only seems to get more weirded out. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Again, Ned and MJ exchange looks, neither of them really wanting to explicitly say it, lest they ruin his mood. 

Ned clears his throat, nudging MJ under the table. 

She wants to slap him, but she doesn’t, and instead turns again to Peter. “It’s just… we know that… today is usually… kind of a hard day.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah.” Peter’s expression falls for a split-second, before returning back to normal. He shakes his head. “No. Yeah. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Ned asks, unsure himself.

MJ isn’t too convinced either. 

Peter gives a short, resolute sigh, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

But both Ned and MJ continue to worry throughout the rest of the school day. Peter just doesn’t seem himself. Yes, he’s acting positive, smiling and joking like he normally does, but they can both tell that something’s not quite right. There’s tension behind his eyes in every smile, like it pains him—even though he hides it well—to force such an expression. To anyone else, he might seem fine, just like he’d claimed to be this morning, but Ned and MJ—they know him better than anyone else. 

The two of them text back and forth throughout the day, making sure they’re both following the same set of rules they gave themselves. But Peter never gives them a reason to implement any of those rules. 

Finally, as the last bell rings, Ned and MJ talk at his locker. 

“I think you should try to go to Peter’s tonight.” He tries to say quietly, but just loud enough so that she can hear over the chatter of students. “I gotta work, but I’m gonna try to switch shifts with someone so I can show up later.”

MJ nods solemnly. “Got it.”

“I think May has to work late tonight, so he might be by himself,” Ned adds. “Not that anything bad’s gonna happen, but I dunno… He might like to have the company, you know?”

“I know,” MJ gives another understanding nod. “I’ll text you.”

Ned gives a single thumbs up, and they part ways. 

MJ only gives it about an hour and a half after school’s out to head over to Peter’s. She doesn’t text him or anything—as per usual—but she does debate on giving him some kind of heads-up. Before five, she’s at his apartment, climbing up to the seventh floor, her feet feeling as if they’re made of lead with every step she takes. 

She raps lightly on the door, three gentle knocks, and is met with radio silence. She knocks again, a little more insistent this time, the sound echoing hollowly in the building, and still no response. It’s then that she takes liberty, opening the door, surprised to find it unlocked. 

The apartment is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen. MJ steps in, her footsteps leading her to the open living room. Her heart nearly snaps in half seeing Peter just sitting there, curled up by himself, staring into the cold fireplace. 

She stands there a moment, waiting to see if he’ll acknowledge her, to see if he’ll invite her to sit with him. 

But he stays silent, his lips pressing together tightly. 

“Hey,” She offers softly with a weak wave of her hand. 

Finally, Peter spares her a look, his eyes red-rimmed, his hair disheveled. The corners of his mouth twitch upward into another forced, anaemic smile. “Hi.”

She doesn’t ask how he’s doing, knowing that it’s not a very smart question at the moment. Instead, she asks, “Can I sit?”

Wordlessly, he scoots over for her, pulling the blanket wrapped around his shoulders with him. 

She lowers herself onto the couch, slowly, and for a long time, they only sit in silence. 

Eventually, Peter lets out a long, tired sigh. He leans forward. “I guess…” His voice is rough and raw from lack of use. He clears his throat. “I guess I just thought it would get easier, you know? And then… when it didn’t… I thought… well, maybe if I just fake it, if I pretend… then I can convince myself that it is, right?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “And clearly, it kinda backfired on me.”

MJ only nods, still listening. 

“And some days… it is easier. Most days, I’m fine. But then… everything just kinda… piles on all at once.” With a shake of his head, he sits back. “I don’t know, I guess… I guess I was thinking—or I guess trying to tell myself—that I was better, or that—that I was done? I don’t know. I mean, I know that it’s not going to be easy. At all.” He huffs, voice beginning to tremble. “I don’t even know if I’m making sense right now, I’m sorry—”

“—Peter, it’s okay,” MJ says, shifting so that she can face him on the couch. “It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s—It’s okay to grieve. You don’t have to convince yourself that you’re done; that after a certain point, you have to stop. There’s no timeline for it.” MJ insists. “Believe me, I know it never gets easier, but it’s okay to allow yourself to miss him.” She grabs his hand. “It’s  _ okay.” _

Peter looks up at her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. His mouth twitches, his chin trembling violently as he gives her hand a hard squeeze. 

She squeezes his hand back. 

iv.

It’s a really dumb excuse, and Peter knows it. 

MJ definitely knows it. 

But it’s probably the only one he could even think of in the moment. There wasn’t a lot of time between the distant crashing, the loud wail of sirens, the police cars zooming by, and the panicked screams for him to come up with something a bit more believable.

No,  _ “Uh… I have to go… Call my… aunt…” _ was probably in his top ten most piss-poor excuses to date. 

Really, nearly four years of being Spider-Man and he still doesn’t have this whole thing down.

Which is why MJ figured it out approximately less than four months into their friendship. 

But now, as she watches him lamely run away in the opposite direction of her, she can’t help but feel the slightest bit frustrated that he hasn’t figured out that she knows already. Sure, she doesn’t really need him to tell her, mostly because one, she already knows, and two, it’s his business. If he never wanted to tell her, fine. It wasn’t going to end their friendship. 

Honestly, though, she could do without the bad lies. 

_ At least try harder, dude.  _

And then, there’s also the small part of her that always gets annoyingly worried at the idea that this idiot—her best friend—is constantly putting himself in danger. There’s this thought, this fear, every time he says his bullshit, every time he runs away to fight some bad guys, that he’s not going to come back at all. That she’s going to lose him. 

And that’s why, right then and there, she decides to follow him into the fire.

It might be just as stupid for her to do it as it is for him—given she doesn’t even have powers—she knows this… But again, it doesn’t stop her. 

It doesn’t take long to find the scene; all she has to do is follow the sound of lies and other bullshit, and maybe some of the shouting and what not. 

As it turns out, a small group of men had broken into a Jewelry store, but in their attempt to infiltrate the security system, one of the breakers had exploded, alerting absolutely everyone nearby. 

Spider-Man, of course, now in his gray and black suit, is there in no time. He webs up the leader first, blasting him in the face with a quick click of his webshooter. Two others try to sneak up on him, but Spidey leaps out of the way, webbing both goons before they can even find him again. 

The fourth guy sees his ever so slim chances of winning, weighing his options, before bolting for the door, but that masked vigilante’s faster. 

Once he’s got four out of five of the guys webbed up, he can see that the last one—the tech guy, he’s guessing—is nowhere to be found. 

MJ sees all of this, of course, from just outside the police perimeter, when out of the corner of her eye, she sees the last goon getting away. She makes a break for it, taking a shortcut through the alley to meet him at the next street. Something in her forces her to run faster, and she’s not sure what, but she knows that this has to work. 

She waits behind a corner, the fast approaching footsteps falling with the erratic hammering of her heart. Slowing her breath in an effort to calm herself, she waits. Along with the criminal, she can hear the  _ thwip-thwip _ of Peter following, swinging from the rooftops above. He seems to have caught on as well. 

The man gets closer and closer, and quickly, MJ acts, sticking her leg out, tripping the runaway effectively. It’s an old, borderline cartoon-y trick, and honestly, she’s a little surprised it works so well. The man falls, groaning as he face plants into the asphalt below. 

Spidey drops down in front of him, instantly blasting him into a web cocoon. 

The masked hero turns. “Hey, great job, citizen—” His mechanical eyes widen when he looks up to see just who helped him out. “What are you doing here? I mean—” He at first demands, but then he remembers himself, clearing his throat. “What—Uh, what are you doing here, ma’am?”

“Was in the neighborhood. Hanging with a friend.” She replies, looking at her nails, the very essence of feigned nonchalance. “Then he ditched me, saying some dumb, bullshit excuse about how he had to go call his aunt. Have you seen him?”

She looks pointedly at him. 

His white, wide eyes narrow slightly. He brings a finger up to the side of his head. “Yeah. Yeah I got it.”

MJ rolls her eyes, knowing he’s probably talking to one of his superhero besties. 

Spider-Man continues to stare at her, and she stares right back. 

“M—Uh, ma’am.” He coughs. “Do you need a lift home?” 

MJ glances from left to right, her arms folding defensively across her chest. “Uh, no—”

Before she can add any sort of retort to the response, he’s scooping her up, leaping into the air and swinging the both of them away. 

“What the hell—” MJ shouts. “You’re just gonna leave that guy there?”

“Ms. Marvel’s got it,” He answers before letting go of the first web.

Her piercing screams go right into his ear as she clings for dear life to him. She doesn’t dare look at the ground below, instead burying her face into his shoulder, her eyes screwed shut as she waits for it all to just be over. No part of her even considers the idea of watching the world pass, of looking at the twinkling white city lights over blocks of dark gray and black. The wind whips around her violently with each swing, her hair flying in all directions as she begs Peter to put her down.

She’s just about gotten her bearings when he lands them on the rooftop of some nearby building. 

“You—You can’t just—! Do that!” She shouts at him, her voice shaky from all the screaming. 

He doesn’t waste any time as he rips off his mask. “What the hell were you thinking, MJ?”

She’s not even shocked seeing his face underneath, but she does take a step back when he moves to her. “What do you mean?” She shoots back defensively, arms folded across her chest. 

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“Are you crazy?” He groans in exasperation. “Putting yourself in danger like that? You could have been hurt!”

“Would you calm down?” She can feel the rising, white hot anger bubbling up in her chest, her throat feeling as if it’s been coated in barbed wire. “It’s not like it was one of your dumb Avengers-level bad guys. It was just some random guy.”

“That ‘random guy’ had a  _ gun _ , MJ. What would you have done if he didn’t fall, or if I wasn’t there? Huh? You don’t have powers to keep you from getting hurt. What would you have done?”

Michelle stares back at him, mouth setting into a tight line.“I’m not a damsel in distress, Peter.”

“God, I  _ know _ you’re not, but—” 

“You can’t control me, alright? And—” She groans in frustration, flexing her fingers. “If—if you don’t want me following you into stupid shit, then—then stop doing stupid shit!”

Her words give him pause. His gaze falls to the concrete, his jaw clenching as he releases a sharp exhale.

Another heavy silence falls.

When he finally speaks again, he struggles to bring his gaze to meet hers.

“MJ, please.” He roughly cards a hand through his hair. He takes a deep, shaky breath. When he looks up again, she can see the raw emotion in his face, the angry, pleading unshed tears threatening to fall. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad… But—but you can’t just… you can’t do that. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you… It… It happened with… with… I can’t… I— _ God _ … if something happened to you...”

She sucks in a sharp breath, holding it, mouth parted slightly as she stands there, finding herself unable to speak.

“I can’t lose you, too.” He adds, his voice breaking. 

Instantly, she moves to him, and he crumples into her arms, his tears falling silently onto her black jacket. She wraps herself around him, holding him close. 

They stand there in silence, just holding each other. 

MJ squeezes him, pulling him even closer, as if he’d disappear if she let him go for even just a moment. “Pete, you’re not gonna lose me,” she murmurs into his neck.

He clings onto her even tighter in response, saying nothing. 

She shuts her eyes as she breathes with him, feeling her own tears falling down her cheek. Releasing a shaky sigh, she burrows herself into his shoulder, whispering, “You’ll never lose me.”

v.

Peter watches as the black liquid in his coffee slowly swirls into a much lighter gray. 

He adds more creamer when MJ’s not looking from her place at the tea bar, hoping that she doesn’t notice. Last time they’d gotten coffee together, she’d roasted him endlessly for how he took his international delight with a hint of actual coffee. 

She comes back to the table moments later, her own tea in one hand, her Italian notebook in the other. “Are you drinking milk?”

Damn.

“Shut up,” he pouts. 

“It’s okay,” she waves him off. “Coffee’s bad for children anyway. You’re just being smart.”

“Hey!” Peter sits back, mouth hanging open in offense. “I thought we were having a friendly, no nonsense study date.”

He tries not to stumble on that last word, and he succeeds (for the most part). Heat still rises to his face, burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

She shrugs, taking a sip of her hot tea. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop messing with you.”

_ He’s not sure if he ever  _ **_wants_ ** _ her to stop. _

“I should’ve known…” He trails off, shaking his head in mock disappointment. 

“Okay!” MJ sets her mug down. “If you’re done complaining, we should get started on chapter six.” 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he laughs. 

“Cool, so—”

Her words are cut off by the abrupt vibrating of her phone next to her on the table. 

She picks it up, brow furrowing as she reads the text message.

Peter pretends not to notice, though he can’t help the way his eyes strain just the slightest bit. Of course, it would be a complete accident if he happened to see her screen. 

There’s a minor twitch in her face, a cringe almost, when she finishes reading. Before he can even ask, she’s back to normal, putting her phone face down on the table. “Sorry,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“No, you’re good,” Peter says softly. He toys with the pencil in his hand, every so often glancing up at her to gauge her expression. 

His eyes ask the question he’s too scared to. 

“Harry,” she answers for him. “Wanting to… talk, I guess.”

“Oh.” Peter’s voice is barely audible. “Are you… Are you going to?”

MJ leans forward, bracing herself on her elbows. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s just… I’m… Tired.” She lets out a half-hearted laugh.

Peter nods quietly, immediately understanding. 

After years of friendship, of the both of them constantly seeing other people, they had both thought Harry was the one for her. 

But, after a single kiss, nothing had changed, and he left. 

And now, he wanted to talk again?

Peter could see her frustration, her weariness. 

“He’s done this before… once. And he changed his mind. Just like the first time. I’m not dealing with that shit again,” she says, folding her arms and pulling them to her chest.

“No, I totally get it.”

She cracks a small, yet genuine smile. “I know you do.”

And he did know. In fact, the same had happened to him. He’d thought he’d found the one with Gwen, only for her to bail months into their relationship. After their first kiss, after the black and white stayed, she swore up and down that it didn’t bother her. 

But all along, all those months after, Peter knew that it did, deep down. 

Sure, Gwen didn’t give him the run around Harry was giving MJ, but it was still painful. 

And with his understanding, there’s this strange sense of… he’s not sure, relief? Relief that none of the people MJ’s dated in the past few years have been her “soulmate.” No one’s been deemed her complete match yet. There was always this knot in his stomach when she’d go out with someone like Brad or Felicia, and then he’d find himself feeling as if the weight was lifted when she’d come home, still seeing in shades of black and white. 

He wondered if she ever felt the same. 

He tries not to think about that particular feeling throughout the rest of their study-date. Of course, that proves to be extremely difficult, given what she means to him. 

He’d be an idiot and a liar if he said he hadn’t had some form of crush on MJ throughout their friendship. That was all it was to him. A dumb, silly crush on his best friend. One that would go away as time went on. 

But the more he thinks about it, sitting here, the more he realizes how they just… make sense. What, with their long, close history, the intimate secrets and moments shared between them, all of it. He honestly, truly, cannot picture any sort of life without her. 

And then there had been all those times that Ned would joke about Peter and MJ being soulmates, calling them “PJ,” poking fun at their close friendship. To all of that, the both of them had vehemently denied any sort of romance between them. 

It didn’t make sense. 

But now, years later, both of them older and a little wiser...

It made sense. 

All of those people they’d dated, and nothing ever working out. It had to be. All these years they’ve been searching and waiting—even though neither or them would admit that this soulmate stuff even mattered to them at this point—and all along, it was right in front of them. 

And here he is, sitting across from her in a gray scale coffee shop, not able to hear her drilling questions over the sound of himself thinking about how much he likes being with her.

_ MJ’s _ right in front of him.

And it hits him then as she gently smacks his arm, telling him to pay attention, to stop staring, and she calls him loser...

He’s stupidly in love with Michelle Jones. 

MJ.

His best friend. 

Suddenly, after such a revelation, he finds that speaking is damn near impossible. He sputters, apologizing (somewhat, he can’t really get coherent words out), and she gives him this funny look that he can’t quite identify, and it brings about this fluttering in his heart that he can’t quite explain.

It’s a moment he wants painted forever in his mind. 

But then, they go back to studying, the moment is gone just as quickly as it had appeared, and Peter is forced to sit on this new information he’d just gathered only ten seconds before. 

That night, Peter paces the carpeted floor of his apartment, beating himself up for not realizing any of this—any of his feelings for MJ—sooner. His first thought is that he’s too late. She couldn’t have felt anything for him now, at this point in their friendship, right? They couldn’t have  _ both _ been so stupid and blind to each other’s feelings. 

If there was any chance for them to become more than friends, it was certainly gone by now. 

Sleep doesn’t come that night. He tosses and turns, haunted by the teasing, adorable toothy grins; quiet snorts of laughter or the quiet, deadpan stares whenever he does something stupid; curls falling in her face as she looks down to hide a smile. 

And now, Peter’s not sure how he’s ever going to function normally around her ever again. 

The next day, he finds her at the campus library, in her own little corner, legs tucked under her body as she reads quietly. 

In truth, he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, what he’s about to do, but he knows he has to do it. 

“MJ,” He blurts out, perhaps a little too eager. 

She looks up, startled, but then her expression falls into one of familiarity. She throws him a loose grin, accompanied by a strong peace sign. “Sup?”

“I uh—” He pauses, running his hands over his dark gray jeans in an effort to wipe the sweat off. “I had a question.”

Her eyes flit left and right before she sits forward, intrigued. “Okay?” There’s a hint of nervousness to her tone, one that he doesn’t recognize. 

“Well, I guess, um…” Peter can look anywhere but directly at her. The air feels thick, his breathing doesn’t come easily. 

God, he doesn’t know how to get this out. 

“First, uh—” His voice shakes, and he disguises it under a cough. “I should start by… by saying that—”  _ Oh, God here we go. _ “I really like you.”

MJ stiffens, again glancing around. “I… like you, too.”

He huffs out a short puff of air, growing frustrated at himself for not being able to get his feelings across well, even as a grown-ass college student. “No, no. I mean…” He finally looks up at her, eyes earnest and warm, yet anxious. “Like, in a romantic… way.”

She definitely seems taken aback by that, but there’s the minuscule, upward twitch of her lip that gives Peter a glimmer of hope to cling onto. 

“Oh?” She asks. 

“Y—Yeah,” He breathes.

MJ looks down at her book, biting at her lip to keep herself calm. She raises the book up a little, as if to hide the way the corners of her mouth are quirking upward. “I… really like you, too,” she mumbles, her bangs falling over her face. “In a romantic… way.”

“Oh,” Peter mimics her earlier, eloquent reaction. “That’s… that’s cool,” he laughs airily. “Did you… maybe wanna… go out with me?”

Her lips stretch into a toothy smile. “Uh… Yeah. That—That sounds cool.”

“Cool!” Peter breathes. They share a quiet, giddy chuckle. “We could… we could go tomorrow night?”

“Or we could go tonight.”

“Tonight sounds good.”

“I’ll see you tonight then. Your place.” She gives him that adorable, shy grin he loves so much. 

“Cool.”

Peter has to fight the skip in his step as he makes his way back home, but once he’s out the door, he allows himself one victorious, cheesy fist-pump in the air. 

\--

He’s not sure if he’s more proud of or angry at himself in this moment. 

Proud, in that he followed his gut, asked out the girl of his fucking dreams; angry, in the sense that it took him so damn long to do it, that they could have been doing this the whole time. But when he looks up at MJ as she’s eating at her mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, he doesn’t feel anything but pure, warm, giddy happiness. 

Apparently, they’d both realized that these mutual crushes weren’t new, beginning as early as high school in fact, embarrassing as it was for them both to openly admit. They share a laugh at their oversight, teasing each other relentless throughout the evening for the both of them being so dumb. 

“I liked you first,” Peter had insisted. 

“Of course you did,” she’d teased. 

And although he’s still feeling that fluttering nervousness in his stomach and his hands are still sweating, there’s an ease to being with her. He can’t help but think how lucky he is, getting to be in this park with her, just walking and talking. 

He glances around, hands shoved into his pockets as they walk side-by-side, and he wonders how all of this could change; how the twinkling lights in the trees or the simple pattern of MJ’s pretty skirt might look in full, vibrant color. 

He shivers in nervous, giddy anticipation, knowing that all of this could change tonight, that he could finally see the world beyond the shades of black, white, and gray he’d always known. But if there’s one thing he’s sure— _ absolutely _ sure about—it’s that no matter what the world looks like, in color or not…  _ nothing _ can change the way he feels about MJ. 

She finishes her cone, letting her hand fall to meet his. There’s the faintest brush of her pinky against his, and it’s all the cue he needs as he intertwines their fingers. His thumb brushes over the soft skin of her hand, and he feels his heart soar when she returns the touch. 

They find a quiet bench, not far from the path, sitting together, still holding hands as they continue to talk, both of them lost in this glowing warmth. 

And finally, when she looks at him, her eyes flitting between his eyes and his mouth, Peter truly feels as though he’s lost his breath. 

She smiles, eyes drifting shut as she leans into him. He follows readily, though still stunned.

And out of all the kisses in his life, this one blows them all out of the water. Truly. It’s everything he’d imagined it would be. It’s that kiss all those years ago he’d told her about on the floor of his living room. It’s an opus that deserves a standing ovation. It’s the book with the ending that makes him feel incandescently happy. And they fit so well together, her soft lips moulding against his in the most perfect way. 

She wraps an arm around his shoulder as his hands comes up to tenderly cradle the back of her head, pulling her into him. Her free hand rests against his forearm, squeezing gently. 

When he pulls away, his eyes still closed, he can feel her smile against him as her lips chase his, kissing him again, both of them lost in the feeling of one another, finally. 

He could almost live in that moment forever, just kissing her on that park bench. 

But at some point, they both need to breathe. 

He pulls away again, still smiling. 

And when he opens his eyes, there’s a feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. It’s ice cold, his heart cracking, the seams now worn and tearing.

The world hasn’t changed. 

The trees are still dark gray. 

The lights are still a blinding white. 

And MJ’s skirt is still a black and white pattern. 

When he finally comes to look at her face, he shatters seeing the realization dawn on her features, even as she tries to hide it. 

She smiles still, and as anemic as it is, he returns the expression as she makes up some excuse about needing to turn in early. He nods, understanding completely, even though his chest feels as if it’s been filled with lead. There’s a certain, familiar stinging behind his eyes as he walks her home and a tense quiet falls over them. 

And he goes home alone. 

Peter can’t sleep, but it’s different than the other night. He tosses and turns, wrought with sadness and shock. Haunted by her touch, her lips against his, the feel of her soft curls under his fingertips. Then, dark trees, blinding white lights.

And he drowns in his confusion. It doesn’t make sense. Everything’s there. Every possible requirement that cruel fate has. They meet it. He doesn’t understand. Why had the universe made everything seem so right, so real, and then give them nothing? What more could it possibly want?

What MJ and Peter have—or had… it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced. It’s a closeness he’s never known. The history they have together is unmatched. MJ’s been there for all of his highs and all of his lows. All his years of relationships with other people, the dates, the nights spent together… they pale in comparison to this one evening with Michelle. Every moment with every other significant other. It’s not the same, and he can’t for the life of him fathom why they’re both still colorblind.

But then, Peter remembers what MJ had said all those years ago, warning him about this; how letting fate have too much control can only make things worse in the long run. 

She had been right. 

She had been  _ right. _

Suddenly, he sits up in bed, rushing to grab his suit. 

He can’t let this go on like this, cliche as it sounds. He has to see her. He has to talk to her. She has to know how he feels. 

In less than ten minutes, at nearly two in the morning he’s at her apartment, outside her fire escape, tapping frantically at her window. 

And MJ answers, looking about in the same state he is. No ounce of sleep yet. 

“Peter, what—”

“Can I talk to you?” He spits out before she can finish. “Please.”

For a moment, she only looks at him, her eyes distant and sorrowful. “Uh… Yeah,” She steps aside, eyeing him warily. “Sure. Come on in.”

Peter rushes in, pacing her floor as he had his own just yesterday. “Listen, I know you’re upset that… that we’re not… soulmates—”

“—I’m not upset,” she instantly denies, though her tone says otherwise. She stands in front of him, arms folded across her chest. 

“You are,” He responds, then his voice lowers, and he speaks again before she can argue. “I am, too. Well, I  _ was _ . But…” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, not knowing how to even begin to explain his feelings. It’s funny, minutes before, in his apartment, the thoughts were running rampant, but now, here, standing in front of her, he can’t seem to find any words. 

“But?” Her voice is almost a whisper, and she dares a short glance from under her lashes. 

“I don’t care,” He decides, tone held strong with finality. “I don’t. Care. I wanna be with you, MJ. I don’t care what fate has to say or—”

“Peter,” She stops him, wrapping her arms around herself. “We’re not… we’re not soulmates. It’s not… It’s not going to work. We’ve seen what happens when you actually try to go against fate. It never works out. I know I said it was bullshit before… but—”

“But this feels  _ right _ , MJ!” He pleads. “I said, I don’t care what fate says. I love  _ you!” _

“You said it yourself, Pete,” MJ murmurs sadly, shaking her head as she looks at him. “Your soulmate is supposed to be perfect for you.”

Peter stares at her a moment, a beat passing. 

“Who says I want perfect?”

MJ immediately looks away, trying to subtly wipe at the bottom of her eyes. 

“And… I don’t care if I never see what the world really looks like. I don’t.” Peter moves forward, taking one of her hands in both of his, his gloved thumbs running soothing lines over her skin. “The only thing I care about is being with you.  _ You, _ MJ. As long as I get to be with you, all that other stuff doesn’t matter. I’d happily see the world in black and white for the rest of my life if it meant I got to spend it with you—”

He’s cut off by MJ crashing her lips to his in a searing, heartfelt kiss. 

When she pulls back, he sees the welling tears in her eyes matching his. A stray drop falls on her cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away. “I love  _ you,” _ he repeats tenderly so that only she can hear. 

She looks down, smiling timidly, letting out a tearful laugh when he pulls her into a tight embrace. “I love  _ you,” _ she says back eagerly, easily, just as soft. 

He takes a breath, pulling back again to capture her lips into another sweet kiss. And he feels all those same feelings from earlier, each and every time. No matter what the universe says, he chooses her, she chooses him. Nothing else matters. 

And when they part, hands and hearts intertwined, they slowly open their eyes again. 

**Author's Note:**

> u know i had to do it to em
> 
> thanks for reading!! 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme or on twitter @smhomecomeme


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